


A Hard Day's Night

by Jo (jmathieson)



Series: Tangents and Intersections ~ Kink Bingo 2013 [50]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Cock Rings, Endurance - Freeform, M/M, Original Character Death(s), Rough Kissing, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-26 00:59:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/959713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jmathieson/pseuds/Jo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An op goes badly. Very badly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Hard Day's Night

**Author's Note:**

> Kink Bingo Round Six (2013) ~ Endurance
> 
> _Author's Note_ : This is my 50th story in this series. I'm half-way there!

The op had gone bad. As bad as any Clint could remember. Maybe worse.

Phil sat across from him on the transport plane, holding himself together so tightly that he couldn't even allow the comfort of rubbing shoulders with his partner. Clint understood. Phil felt responsible for the two body bags that were laying on the floor at the other end of the aircraft. 

Phil was staring at a data pad in his hand so that he didn't have to look anyone else in the eye. Clint watched as the exhaustion, stress, and roar of the engines finally took their toll and Phil's head started to droop. He reached out and caught the data pad just as it slipped out of Phil's fingers, so that it wouldn't wake him when it clattered to the floor. Clint watched for a few more minutes, then put his own head back and tried to let sleep take him, too. But when he closed his eyes, he saw the shots he couldn't make. The bullets ripping into bodies. The blood and the stillness.

The plane landed. They showered and changed at headquarters and then spent four hours in debrief. Clint listened as Phil explained in a flat, toneless voice how the two dead agents had been following his instructions to enter the compound from the back, through what had appeared to be an un-used storeroom but turned out to actually be a heavily-guarded drug lab. How the major drug and sex trafficking ring was being run by bunch of hopped up thugs with no more organization than a street gang, but more artillery than a small country. How two of the injured agents had been hit while trying, and failing, to rescue their team-mate before she bled to death.

At some point Fury had sent for coffee and sandwiches, and they ate mechanically, not tasting the food. 

"I'd like to recommend commendations for Agents Brown, Henderson, Kim and Oliver, and Specialists Barton, Diaz, and Franklin. I'd like to recommend a special commendation for bravery for Agent Lewis. And I would like to recommend posthumous awards of valor for Agent O'Brien and Specialist Parker." Phil kept his head up, not needing to check his notes for the names of the people who had been on the op. He knew them all. Had chosen them all. Had, in his mind, failed them all. 

"Of course." To anyone who didn't know him well, Director Fury's voice sounded even, but Clint could hear the gentleness in it. "Thank you everyone, for your professionalism. Our thoughts are with the friends and families of Agent O'Brien and Specialist Parker. I will let you know what arrangements their families request. Go home and get some rest, all of you."

They filed out of the conference room, and Clint followed Phil to his office, expecting Phil to pick up a bag or some paperwork, and then lock up and leave. Instead, he sat down at his desk and turned on his computer.

"Phil?"

"I have Letters of Condolence to write." Clint considered telling him that they could wait, but he knew the responsibility weighed heavily on Phil's shoulders. 

"OK. I'll be at the range."

Two hours later he was still at the range, shooting arrow after arrow. Using his focus on the target to push away the pain, the sorrow, the fear and the anger. It worked, for as long as he had arrows to shoot, but each time he had to stop to walk to the other end of the range, to pull them out of the target, the things he was avoiding would creep back in. So he shot some more, ignoring the burn in his shoulders, the blisters on his fingers, and the spots in front of his eyes from lack of sleep.

"Clint."

He loosed the shot, then lowered the bow. He turned. Phil was standing there, looking old and tired. 

"Come on, let's go home."

Clint looked at Phil, then looked back downrange. Phil stepped closer, put a hand on Clint's chest, the first time they had touched since the previous afternoon when they'd climbed out of an unmarked van two blocks from the target.

"Please, Clint. I need you." Phil's voice was steady, but his eyes were pained, and Clint put down his gear.

They travelled home in silence, but Phil kept one hand on Clint for as much of the journey as was practical, letting go only to change gears while driving. When they got to the front door of the house, however, Phil headed straight for the bedroom, leaving Clint to turn off the alarm and lock up behind them. Then he followed quickly, worried. Clint found Phil waiting for him in the bedroom, jacket, tie, belt, socks and shoes already off. As soon as Clint got close enough, Phil grabbed him and pulled him in for a kiss.

There was nothing tender about the way Phil kissed him. It was a desperate, needy crush of lips, accompanied by arms wrapped around him so tightly he could barely breathe. Clint cradled the back of Phil's head, and tried to rub a hand up and down his back soothingly, but Phil was having none of it. He moved his hands down to Clint's ass and pulled their groins together, grinding his half-hard cock into Clint's crotch.

Clint tightened his hand in Phil's hair and disengaged from the kiss.

"Phil, it's OK. Whatever you need. Whatever you want, I'm here. I'll give you whatever you need. I'll give you anything I can."

Phil's eyes were slightly wild as he moved his hands off Clint's ass and back around him, squeezing tight. Phil hooked his chin over Clint's shoulder and this time, let Clint rub his back soothingly.

"I want you to fuck me."

"OK."

"I want you to fuck me as hard as you can for as long as you can. I want to feel you. I need you to make me feel you. Nothing but you."

"OK Phil, OK."

Phil turned his head and kissed his cheek, his jaw, his mouth. His kisses were less desperate now, but still needy. He slid his hands up under Clint's t-shirt, kneading the muscles with his fingers. He pulled his mouth away.

"Touch me."

Clint tugged Phil's shirt out of his pants and slid his arms up under it, Phil sagged against him, relaxing for the first time in 36 hours. Clint stroked his back, kissed him, moved one hand to undo his shirt buttons. 

As soon as Clint had Phil's shirt undone, Phil pulled Clint's t-shirt over his head so he could press their bare chests together. He seemed to be craving skin contact, and Clint had no problem giving that to him. Clint pushed Phil's shirt off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor, then he spent a few minutes just running his hands over Phil's back, trying to ground him with touch. All the while, Phil was kissing him, wet and open-mouthed, his tongue trying to crawl down Clint's throat.

Clint unfastened Phil's pants and then his own, and shoved both pairs down. Only then did Phil move his hands to push down his own underwear and step out of them and his trousers. Clint did the same, and as soon as they were both naked, Phil pulled him into a full body hug and held on tight for a long minute before stepping back. Phil turned to the dresser and opened the drawer that they kept their bedroom 'toys' in. 

Was Phil going to want to be cuffed or tied up? Clint knew how wound up Phil was, how much he needed to relax and let go, and being restrained often helped him do that. Phil hesitated. Clint stepped to his side and kissed his shoulder.

"Whatever you need, Phil," he said softly.

Phil reached into the drawer and pulled out a silicon cock ring. They'd only used it once before, on an evening that Phil had been feeling particularly playful, and wanted to tease Clint. 

Clint nodded and took it from him, stepping back towards the bed to put it on. Phil took a second cock ring out of the back of the drawer, this one a leather band with snaps, older and well-used. Clint's eyebrows went up, but he made no comment. He just put one bare foot up on the mattress to make it easier to carefully feed his balls one by one through the stretchy rubber loop, and then pull his (thankfully still mostly soft) dick through as well.

Phil, who had already strapped his own on, watched. Clint palmed himself, making sure everything was properly settled.

"OK?" Phil asked.

"Yeah." 

Phil nodded, and fished a half-full bottle of lube out of the bedside drawer. He tossed it onto the middle of the bed and then climbed on, settling on his knees facing the foot of the bed, one hand gripping the top rail of the metal foot-board for balance. He flipped open the lube, squeezed some out onto his fingers, and started to work himself open.

Clint climbed onto the bed next to him and grabbed the lube. Phil made a small, surprised noise when he felt Clint slip a finger in beside his own. Clint kissed his shoulder again and wrapped his free arm around Phil's waist.

Phil turned his head to capture Clint's mouth in a hot kiss, finding the feeling of having both their fingers working together to open him unexpectedly erotic. He began to breathe heavily, glad for the restraint of the cock ring. And in the haze of pleasure, the darkness started to recede a little.

Clint worked a second finger in and clasped the rest of his hand around Phil's wrist, guiding the movements for both of them and setting a rhythm. When Phil started to rock back to meet the thrusting fingers, Clint pulled their hands away and spread a generous amount of lube on his hard dick.

Phil put both hands on the rail at the foot of the bed and Clint positioned himself and then gripped Phil's hips. He sank in with one long, smooth, deep thrust and they both moaned, the lack of any barrier between them still new and exciting. Clint set an even rhythm, pulling almost all the way out and then sinking back in deep, the way Phil liked it, and pausing for just a second before pulling back again for the next thrust.

"Yes. Yes, Clint. Yes."

Confident that he was giving Phil what he wanted, what he needed, Clint settled himself into the rhythm, the sensations, the connection between them as he fucked Phil.

Phil dropped his head between his arms. He closed his eyes and focused on the feeling of Clint's dick in his ass, stretching him wide open, filling him up, pounding deep inside him with every stroke, connecting him. He blanked out all other thoughts and feelings, grounding himself in the sensations and letting nothing else exist.

Clint had set a pace that he knew he could keep up for quite a while, but Phil had said, "Fuck me as hard as you can, for as long as you can," so Clint started to gradually increase the force of his thrusts. As he did, he gripped Phil's hips harder with his hands, and he felt Phil relax under him.

Clint, on the other hand, had to concentrate to stop himself from tensing up as the pain in his fingertips and shoulders from the hours he had spent at the range earlier that day made itself known. Normally, Clint enjoyed a little bit of pain with his sex, but right now he couldn't manage to convince himself that this pain was in any way erotic. So instead, he did something he had taught himself to do as a child: he used the pain to push himself harder, to do what needed to be done. In this case, to give Phil what he had asked for, what he needed. So Clint gripped harder and thrust harder, until Phil was bracing himself with his arms for each stroke.

Phil welcomed the increasing force of Clint’s thrusts with relief. Clint's physical strength had always been a huge turn-on for Phil, Clint being strong meant that Phil, occasionally, was allowed to be weak. Allowed to need. Allowed to take, like he was doing now. Taking the pounding. Taking everything that Clint could give him. Despite the liberal amount of lube that Clint had used, Phil was starting to feel a burn in his ass from the unrelenting friction and he welcomed that too, because along with the desperate ache in his restrained balls and dick, it commanded all of his attention. This was exactly what he had wanted, needed. To feel nothing at all except the pounding of Clint's dick in his ass and a desperate need to come. It was perfect, and he tried to tell Clint that, lifting his head and gasping the word out between now brutally hard thrusts.

"Perfect, Clint. Perfect."

Clint heard Phil's words distantly. The tight friction of the steady hard thrusts into Phil's ass was starting to get to him, despite the restraint of the cock ring, which was making his balls ache with a need to come. He could feel the occasional hot dribble from the head of his dick and he started to wonder how much longer he would be able to hold out.

Phil felt like a single raw nerve being abraded with sandpaper. His breath rasped in his throat, his knuckles were white on the bed-rail. His thighs began to tremble.

"Don't stop," he gasped, worried that Clint would notice his distress, "Please don't stop."

Clint fucked him harder.

Phil moaned, and cried out for more.

Clint pushed himself to his own limits, muscles tense and burning, balls tight and aching, dick sore. He opened his eyes for the first time in many long minutes and saw the expression on Phil's face, which was turned to the side and pillowed on one of his arms as he gripped the bedrail. Gripped the bedrail with white knuckles Clint realized that despite his pleas, Phil wasn't enjoying this, he was enduring it. And while it may be what Phil wanted, and even what he needed, there was only so far that Clint was willing to go.

Without letting the punishing rhythm falter, Clint let go of one of Phil's hips, circled Phil's chest with a strong arm, and pulled.

"Let go Phil. It's OK, I've got you. Let go."

Phil slowly released his grip on the bed rail and, ignoring the sharp ache in his arm and shoulders, Clint pulled Phil's body upright, and held Phil's back tightly against his sweaty chest.

Held tight and safe in Clint's strong arm, Phil let his head fall back onto Clint's shoulder. Clint's rhythm never faltered, still pounding into Phil with long hard strokes.

"You're going to come for me," Clint said into his ear, punctuating the statement with deep, powerful thrusts.

"I don't think I can," gasped Phil. He was completely wrung out. He had nothing left to give.

"You can and you will." Clint moved his other hand from Phil's hip and slipped it behind Phil's hard straining dick where it stood red and leaking against his belly. Clint pressed a flat palm firmly against Phil's lower abdomen, just above his pubic bone, and then angled his next thrust up and out. The pressure on Phil's prostate made him cry out and see sparks. Clint did it again. And again.

"You're going to come for me." Clint thrust again, harder.

"Yes. Oh God, yes. Clint. I need... I need..."

Clint knew what he needed. He took his hand off Phil's abdomen and fumbled for the lube. Squeezed some out into his hand, and wrapped his fingers around Phil's dick. One powerful arm held Phil against Clint's chest, trapping him and squeezing him so tightly he could barely draw a full breath. Clint's other hand was a firm fist around his dick.

Clint thrust hard. Squeezed hard. 

"Come."

Clint dropped his head to fasten his teeth to the back of Phil's neck, not biting hard, but holding him firmly like a stallion mounting a mare. He stroked Phil's dick with a tight fist, and thrust into him with every bit of strength he had left.

Phil screamed, his entire body going rigid as he started to spurt into Clint's hand. Two more hard thrusts into the impossibly tight heat and Clint was coming too, a keening sound muffled against the back of Phil's neck.

It took all his concentration to carefully disengage. To make sure Phil had unstrapped the cock ring he was wearing - Clint would have to wait a while until he had softened completely to get his off. To get both of them turned around and under the covers. Clint pulled Phil to him, and Phil pillowed his head on Clint's chest. 

"Are you going to be OK?"

"Yes. Eventually. I've lost 11 people in the 7 years I've been a handler. I should be used to it by now, but it never gets any easier. Never hurts any less."

"Maybe that's a good thing."

"How do you figure that?"

"If it got easier, if it hurt less, maybe next time you wouldn't be as careful, and then more people would die."

"I never thought about it like that, but you're right." Phil was quiet for a long while, and Clint was almost asleep when he heard Phil speak again, softly.

"Thank you."

"Anything I can give you, Phil. Always."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks always to my excellent editors t! and Shazrolane.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr at: [Queen of Wands](http://jmathieson-fic.tumblr.com/)


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